


Director's Cut - Superheroes

by riverchic1998



Series: Superheroes [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Teen Wolf (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Assisted Suicide, BAMF Stiles, Behind the Scenes, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Humor, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Sarcasm, director's cut, excessive sarcasm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:49:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28972356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverchic1998/pseuds/riverchic1998
Summary: Behind the scenes look at Superheroes, where I break down every chapter and give you insights, anecdotes, and more on chapter snippets.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Superheroes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845628
Comments: 11
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm slowly working my way through Chapter 21, and since so many people wanted a Director's Cut of this fic, I thought this would work. The first few chapters will come quick. If you want to request my thoughts on a scene or anything, feel free to leave those in the comments! And as always, thanks for all the love on my little piece of writing I've put out into the world!
> 
> My thoughts are bold and italicized for ease!

Stiles is exhausted and trying so hard to pay attention to the professor in his psychometrics and assessment class. He glances around and everyone else in the class seems to be in the same boat - nodding off, leaning their heads against an arm, blinking lazily at the ceiling. With a sigh, he tunes back into the professor, only to get a hard jolt from just behind his ribs. He may be tired, but even if he was dead asleep, he wouldn’t miss _that_. The wards on his house have gone off. His class lets out just before Derek’s shift at work ends, so he’ll just text Derek as soon as the class is done. Their house doesn’t have anything dangerous in it unless the people inside wish him harm.

And hey, if Derek gets home first, he’s pretty sure they’re going to find their insides on their outsides. On second thought, maybe he should text Derek after all and remind him they just got the carpets cleaned.

When the wards for his desk goes off, Stiles frowns and contemplates risking his dick professor kicking him out of the class if he looks at his phone. Or throwing his pen at Stiles’ face, but Stiles is really good at ducking. This professor may think he’s progressive with his techniques, but Finstock was throwing things at Stiles’ face years ago.

_**I’ve actually had a teacher throw something at me. It was in high school, not college. I made a dick joke. I also attended a private school, so you can imagine how well THAT joke landed with the teacher. Who was also a local pastor. The only reason I didn’t get in trouble was because my mother was the high school principal (yes really, it was actually awesome).** _

Stiles can map the intruder’s way through the house with all the doors and cabinets that get opened. The exploration isn’t rushed, so he doubts it’s a thief. Some of the more expensive items are moved but not _removed_ , although he makes a face when his PS4 is lifted and put back. Like he’s going to hide anything in there.

His Jedi wards - aka his _this isn’t the information you’re looking for_ wards - never go off. Honestly, the whole experience feels more like a curious exploration than a search for something. Books are slid out of the bookshelf, but always put back and none of the dangerous books are moved.

When the wards for the fridge goes off, he can’t help his _what the fuck_ expression, because what the hell is he supposed to have hidden in his fridge? Stiles almost pulls out his phone to text Derek, but stops. His instinct tells him to wait, to not leave the class early like he wants. Usually when his gut screams at him, he pays attention. It’s kept him and his pack alive for eight years. He’s not about to ignore it now. After a few deep breaths, his muscles relax and his body goes slack again.

Derek will kill him when he realizes that Stiles is going home without alerting anyone that the wards on the house have been breached, but now _he’s_ the curious one. He’s a curious cat and he’s going to get fucking murdered one of these days. Maybe today.

As soon as the lecture is done and leaves the classroom, he can practically _feel_ someone watching him. He restrains from doing a 360 on the sidewalk with his middle fingers in the air, because he’s an adult and a professional, but it’s hard. Stiles also doesn’t pull out his phone to check his messages or emails. He’s not about to risk someone watching and assuming he’s asking for help.

_**Having done a 360 with middle fingers in the air (at my previous, toxic work job when I finally walked out on my last day), I had to go back in and include this when I was doing final edits. My friend echo wanted me to play “Fuck this shit I’m out”.** _

Instead, he lets himself get pulled into a conversation with two classmates as they walk toward the parking lot. One peels off to head in a different direction, but Stiles remains engaged with the other student and sings the Mission Impossible theme in his head.

On the drive to the house, Stiles makes sure to blare the music - and if it’s his fight playlist, then there’s no one to judge him, _maybe_ \- and bop around to the music, singing the lyrics he knows and absolutely butchering the lines he doesn’t. Nothing out of the ordinary, and he lets his exaggerated motions cover his fidgeting.

_**I have playlists for EVERYTHING. I am a collector of all music. If you put my music on shuffle, you could get classical Italian opera, rap, or the Chipmunks. Yes, really.** _

And if he stops through the drive-thru for curly fries, well. Someone raided his fridge, and he doesn’t know if his after-school snack is still there. If someone _is_ there to kill him, he’s not going to go down without a fight and full stomach.

If Stiles hadn’t warded the shit out of the house, he never would have guessed anything was wrong when he finally arrives home. The door is locked and there are no scratch marks around the lock. If the wards also hadn’t alerted him that the front door was breached, he would assume they came in through the window.

He hitches his backpack higher on his shoulder so he can shove the door open. Stiles tosses his keys into the bowl he and Derek keep by the door but keeps his bag with him. There are definitely two people in the house, but they’re not waiting to ambush him right away. The lights are still off and nothing looks disturbed. It’s not dark enough to hide anyone since the sun is still up, but it’s getting closer to the evening and the setting sun creates shadows in the living room and kitchen.

As flippant as he’s been so far, he’s still pretty pissed. The wards are supposed to be an “in case of break-in” scenario that should never happen. He can’t think of a single person who _knows_ that he and Derek are there that’s stupid enough to try to sneak in and attack them. Their reputation is too kick-ass.

Stiles drops his bag on the small breakfast table he and Derek shoved next to a window at the edge of the kitchen and swallows down the last of his curly fries. “If you fuckers ate the last of the casserole I had in the fridge, shit’s going down,” he says to the room as he starts to rifle through his bag, tossing his heaviest book onto the table with a loud thud. He hopes he gets to smack someone in the face with it. “And really? Waiting in the dark? Cliche much? I know for a fact that there’s no lamps next to any chairs so your dramatic reveal’s kinda shot to shit.”

There’s a telling silence at the end of his statement and Stiles smirks. Stiles - 1, Intruders - 0. When the lights turn on, he sighs and turns to face the music… and blinks.

Hawkeye is leaning against the fridge, a tupperware container in one hand and a fork in the other. There are about two bites of casserole left in the container, and damn it, that was going to be Stiles’ snack. Stiles - 1, Intruder -1.

“Really, asshole?” he snaps, before his brain catches up to his mouth and _Hawkeye is in my kitchen_ fires around his head. There is an actual Avenger eating his food. Stiles doesn’t know what the hell to do with that.

He _really_ doesn’t know what to do when the Director of SHIELD before it went down in a blaze of helicarrier glory walks into the room from his bedroom. The _dead_ Director of Shield. Stiles had watched the nationally televised funeral. Does no one stay dead anymore?

“Oh my god, why were you in my _bedroom_?!” He narrows his gaze as he looks former Director Fury over head to toe and he just can’t resist asking a question that’s been bugging him for years. “Is that eyepatch really comfortable? Because I had a contact that ripped in my eye once and irritated the hell of it, and I had to get one of those really stupid pharmacy eyepatches, and holy crap, did I hate it. But it was either that or walk around with one contact in and one out, and I run into walls _with_ corrective contact lenses, so. Wasn’t really worth becoming a pirate, but you totally rock it. Has anyone tried to give you a parrot?”

_**The eyepatch thing happened to me. I hated them. Everytime I would see Fury, I wondered how SLJ managed with that thing that looked like it dug into his head. It looks really uncomfortable, right?!** _

His dad always told him that rambling at bad guys isn’t doing him any favors, but Stiles got some idiots to let him go once after he was kidnapped as leverage during a territory dispute by being super annoying. While superspies weren’t idiots, Stiles throws it out there. There’s logic in making himself an unwanted target and he’s pretty sure the Avengers won’t kill him.

When Hawkeye goes to put a forkful of casserole in his mouth, Stiles points at him. “Take another bite and I swear to Christ, I’ll shove that tupperware so far up your ass, you’ll never get the taste of plastic out of your mouth.”

The reaction is habit, borne of living with _literal wolves_ for years, and having one for a boyfriend. If he doesn’t defend his food with his life, he’d never eat. Thankfully, he doesn’t get an arrow in his eye, although he doesn’t see the Avenger with his bow and quiver. He’s actually dressed in normal clothes and not a uniform, but Stiles also knows that just because a weapon isn’t visible, doesn’t mean someone isn’t armed.

More surprising, the other occupant of the room chuckles. Glad to know he amuses someone.

“Mr. Stilinski,” Fury begins, but Stiles waves at him with both hands. He stops because Stiles looks like he’s in a slapfight with the air.

_**I flail. I do this move all the time. I just can’t help it. I often wear noise-canceling headphones in the office so I can focus and my coworkers throw things at me (sense a theme?) to get my attention since my headphones are kick-ass. For some reason, my body’s natural reaction is to karate-chop the item away (or jump in the air and scream, as my girlfriend reminded me, but I think the karate-chop is more badass).** _

“That makes me look around for my dad or my tight-ass professors. Call me Stiles.”

Hawkeye snorts and puts the tupperware down. He leans against the counter and crosses his arms. Stiles blinks at the sight, because even though he’s in a loving, committed relationship with an amazing male specimen, the _arms on that man_. He shakes himself and turns back to a not-as-amused Fury. “Hey, you guys broke into my house and ate my food. You’re not allowed to judge me.”

“Judging aside, you’re a hard man to track down.” 

Stiles laughs and leans against the table. “Cliche number two. I’m living in a Bond movie. This is awesome.” When his chuckles stop, he gestures for Fury to continue. “Please, tell me how hard it was to track me down. I know that my Facebook privacy settings are harsh, but damn.”

Fury reaches to one of the side tables in the living room and picks up part of a stack of papers. He walks forward and tosses it onto the kitchen table. Even from the other side of the table, Stiles can see that they’re printouts of screenshots. Specifically, screenshots of forum posts. He recognizes some of the avatars, especially his. He frantically wracks his brain for any anti-Avenger posts he’s _ever made_ but he’s always been pretty pro-Avengers.

Hawkeye snickers at his expression. “What the hell are you posting on the Internet to warrant that face?”

Stiles glares at him. “Once something is on the Internet, it is _always_ on the Internet, and I was a very curious child. Teenager. Person.” He still doesn’t walk around the table or pull the papers closer. “You know, I still don’t know why you broke into my houses and snooped through my things.” Fury’s unreadable expression is so damn impressive that he can’t help but ask, “How many years of spy school did it take to achieve that level of perpetual indifference?”

“How did you know that your house had been infiltrated without the use of audio or video surveillance?” Fury counters. And wow, they _really_ searched his house.

“So I _was_ being monitored in class and on the ride home.” Stiles nods to himself, pulling out his smartphone and placing it on the table. “Good to know. Which means my phone is probably being monitored as well, so it’s a good thing I didn’t send an SOS message when I first thought to.”

The title of his memoir will be _I stared down Nicholas Fury and Survived… Sorta_. Hawkeye treats the exchange like a tennis match and Stiles bets if there was popcorn in the pantry, it would be popping in the microwave. And now he wants popcorn. Damn it.

“And why would you need to send an SOS message?”

Stiles gives him a _duh_ expression. “Because my house was _broken into_?” He doesn’t think he’s used so much sarcasm in one sentence in a while. Stiles is proud of himself. 

“We’re back to figuring out how you knew that your house had been infiltrated.”

“Yeah,” Stiles drawls as he pulls his backpack closer. Both Fury and Hawkeye tense up, the Avenger going so far as to reach around to his back, which means he probably has a weapon holstered at the small of his back. Stiles called it. He’ll be smug later. Neither of the men relax until Stiles pulls an old, low-tech emergency burner phone and his water bottle from his bag.

There’s no GPS to track, no connection to the Internet to exploit, and it’s a burner phone purchased with cash at an old mom and pop electronic store with an old security system that sporadically shorted out. Each pack member has one, only to be used for an emergency. There are no numbers programmed in the contacts list, either.

Stiles dials the number to Derek’s burner phone, and waits for the call to connect, untwisting the top of his water bottle. Neither Fury nor Hawkeye stop him. Both of them appear to be curious. They’re in for a surprise.

When Derek picks up, Stiles starts talking as quickly as possible. The pack uses codes, and they all memorized and practiced so they could speak as clearly as they could while taking the least amount of time. Once the scowling duo realize he’s calling for help, if they even understand the code that’s being used, he needs to get Derek as much information as possible.

“10, 603, 32, 61.” _Home, forcible entry, man with gun, personnel in area._

Derek inhales sharply. “45?” _Condition of patient_.

Stiles smirks. “Adam.” _Condition good_.

“3,” Derek snaps, telling him to end the call. If the alpha _is_ under surveillance, they’re about to have a hell of a time. Derek also doesn’t work too far away from the house, so his knight in shining fur will arrive fairly soon.

As soon as the call ends, Stiles takes the back off and removes the battery and SIM card, dropping both into the water. The whole exchange takes only four seconds and the phone parts are in the water seven seconds later. He tosses the now defunct phone into his backpack.

_**The codes above are from the actual police 10 codes. There used to be more but I whittled them down because the whole point is to get as much information out in the shortest amount of time, right? Also, I theoretically practiced how long the above actions would take to get the time correct. That’s how determined I was to be as accurate as possible** _ **. _Not that anyone cares._**

“That was actually impressive.”

Stiles whirls around to huff at Hawkeye. “What’s with the _actually_? You don’t know shit about me.”

“As a matter of fact,” Fury chimes in, and Stiles winces, because _fuck_ did he walk into that one, “we know a bit more about you than you probably think.” He tosses the rest of the papers on the table, next to the previously offered stack.

With a scowl, Stiles uses one of the placemats to pull the papers forward. Hawkeye’s eyebrows raise. “I’m not about to put my fingerprints on possibly incriminating documents. I’m not an idiot.”

_**I watch a lot of crime documentaries. A lot. I routinely fall asleep to Forensic Files and the like. I’ve watched every episode at least three times. I may have some paranoia in me. Maybe.** _

Just as he’s about to make another smartass comment, Stiles catches the title of the second round of papers. He recognizes the title - it was his senior thesis for his Bachelor’s degree, which was a study on post-traumatic stress disorder both in cultures that accepted supernatural and paranormal ideals and cultures that did not. There were a lot more profound sounding words in his abstract - his title is practically a paragraph - and maybe Stiles can see where this is going. When he first talked to his advisor about his goals with his degree at the start of his undergraduate career, armed with the desire to help people and papers written after too much Adderall and coffee at two in the morning, the man actually laughed at him.

He should probably thank Iron Man. And Thor. Definitely the Hulk. Suddenly his crazy ideas about trauma caused by preternatural incidents that got him mocked for years got him semi-famous in the supernatural and metaphysical communities. His senior thesis was actually _published_.

Lydia published her first paper three months before him and she’s never let him forget it. He says that it’s not fair because she started her college classes a semester early by attending online while completing high school. She reminds him that she started gathering data for her published paper at thirteen. That’s when he typically shuts up.

_**I always write Lydia and Stiles as bros that behave like actual siblings. Not that I have a sibling, but I have friends that I treat as siblings. I’m also extremely competitive, sometimes (mostly) about the most stupid things.** _

He pushes his thesis aside and pulls another paper closer, but this one is more recent. Stiles’ eyebrow rises when he checks the date. While not his thesis, this paper was still from his Master’s, and thanks to his unique experiences with the supernatural, his views on forensic mental health, trauma, and criminal justice weren’t the norm. He’s intimately familiar with guilt - survivor’s guilt in general - and acting due to forces beyond his control.

Stiles also became very good at skating around the supernatural elements that he’d love to include in papers, but that came from setting up and posting on supernatural trauma forums online in high school and his undergrad years. Turns out there were forums for similar situations, but they were hard to find and even harder to get posting access to. Stiles understood that - hello, hunters - but the need was still there.

There’s nothing supernatural mentioned in his school papers. He knows there isn’t anything mentioned on the forum posts, either, even if everyone posting there understood the codewords and the like, He doesn’t know what screenshots were taken and why actual superheroes are coming to him with copies.

When Stiles reads the posts, he’s more confused. They’re older posts, back from his undergrad freshman year, but it was during a supernatural attack that a bunch of people got caught in. Stiles practically ran himself into the ground offering support, advice, and gathering information for Scott and Derek so they could do damage control.

“This tells me nothing,” Stiles says. “Except that you can use Google and know how to take screenshots.”

“I consider it your resume,” Fury tells him.

Stiles freezes, because _what_.

_**That cliffhanger! Honestly, this was the best place to end it since I wrote chapter one and chapter two as one whole chunk. It just happened to be in a place that made me evilly cackle. It’s not a chapter eight cliffhanger or anything, but I don’t think I’ll ever write anything to top that.** _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a doozy! I'm stuck on chapter 21 for Superheroes so I decided to pop this up instead.

Fury doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t explain, even after Stiles gestures for more. “What the hell do you mean it’s my _resume_? If you haven’t realized it, I’m still in college.”

He doesn’t look impressed. “You’ve _been_ in college. You have two degrees, four separate certifications, and you’re on the fast-track for a PhD.”

_**I did so much research into what degrees and certifications Stiles has. Not gonna lie, I wish I could get some of these because they would be super helpful for my job. Plus, I just find it so interesting. I also like learning.** _

“I like learning,” Stiles deadpans. The truth is, he _does_ like learning, and it not only helps his pack but other packs. That, and as a joke, he, Scott, and Lydia made a bet their senior year of high school to see who could get the most letters added to their official signatures. Lydia is kicking their ass.

“You like helping, and it just so happens that I have someone you can help.”

Stiles blinks, because that sounds a hell of a lot like a job proposal. At first, he thinks maybe they want him for his research, because he _is_ a kickass researcher. Then he panics because what if they want him for his _supernatural_ research? But no, they would be pulling up things that he could easily wave away as research for video games instead of his scholarly papers.

“Help,” he repeats dubiously. “Help how?” Stiles’ gaze darts down to the papers and then to the forum posts. “I’m not a doctor. I’m not going to school to _become_ a psychologist. That’s not my end game.”

“Then why are you here?” Fury asks, gesturing around.

Stiles wants to reply with, _I live here_ , but he knows what the question means. He crosses his arms defensively, because he’s answered this question before, fielded it from advisors, fellow students, and professors. _Why are you getting a degree in psychology if you’re not going to become a psychologist_?

_**While my degrees aren’t in psychology, I know lots of people who have this degree or something similar. You’d be surprised how many jobs benefit from a psychology degree besides psychiatry or psychology.** _

He’s tired of justifying his actions for choosing the colleges he does. He got his Bachelor’s from _Stanford_. It’s not like he’s slumming. “I’m here because Cornell’s programs dedicated to research on perception and cognition are the best in the country. Which, if you actually read these papers instead of having your minions print them off, you’d know is the main focus in my studies.”

“Specifically,” Fury interrupts with an unamused expression, “environmental perception, post-traumatic cognitions, and trauma coping self-efficacy in people with PTSD. Why do you think I’m here?”

_**I put a lot of thought into what I wanted Stiles’ focus to be. I did some research into PTSD papers on medical sites I have access to (yay job) and while this isn’t an actual study I found, I combined a few and voila.** _

He throws his arms up in exasperation. “Jesus, I still don’t know. But, please tell me so I can get you the hell out of here. I have to start dinner before my boyfriend gets home, and if you’re still around when he shows up, he will kick your asses.”

Hawkeye snorts loudly and Stiles thanks the universe for its epic timing. Enough time has passed that Derek has run home, successfully disabled all the ground teams monitoring the house, and Stiles can feel him sneaking around the house to cross the wards.

“Really? You want to play it that way?” he shrugs. “Fine. How many of your teams have missed their check-ins by now?”

Fury frowns before looking to Hawkeye to confirm. Even the Avenger looks caught off guard, but he looks at his watch and then tilts his head to the side, murmuring too low for Stiles to hear. The frown deepens when he turns back to Fury. “Radio’s silent.”

Stiles smirks when Derek walks in from the bedroom, completely silent. Hawkeye notices his presence before Stiles thought he would and whirls around, pulling his gun and pointing it at Derek. The alpha gives him an unimpressed look before turning to Fury. “The radio’s silent because everyone attached to them are unconscious. What the hell are you doing in my house?”

_**What an entrance, right? Unf.** _

Fury glares at Derek, and Stiles wishes he could pull his phone up to film the showdown. The glowers are ridiculous. “Was that necessary?”

Derek gives Fury a look he usually reserves for Stiles and Scott, when he thinks their stupidity might be catching. _**This is one of my favorite lines of this chapter.**_ “When someone I care about calls me and says there’s a man with a gun in the house and he’s under surveillance, I think it is. I’m only going to ask one more time before you’re going to join the unconscious men outside.”

“Aww,” Stiles says, grinning at Derek, who glares at him. “Love you too, boo.”

“Are you really not going to say a thing about the gun pointed at your head?” Hawkeye asks, and he doesn’t sound that concerned either, but he also hasn’t made a move past drawing and pointing his gun. As the child of a veteran and police officer, Stiles knows that move is enough.

He also knows that Derek is fast and as an alpha, can heal practically anything, especially with his kick-ass emissary in the room who can do a hell of a lot of damage. Stiles loves being a BAMF. He loves being an underestimated BAMF even more.

_**Being underestimated is the best. THE BEST.** _

Derek shrugs and turns his attention back to Stiles. “Still good?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, pushing the papers around with the placemat some more. “More confused than anything. I think they want to hire me for something?”

He doesn’t hold the incredulous expression against Derek. Stiles has a very specific skill set, and he has no idea why _the Avengers_ would need him. If they wanted him as a supernatural consultant, they wouldn’t have brought his papers or his degrees into the conversation at all.

“You couldn’t have called?” Derek asks sarcastically. Stiles grins at him as he pushes the papers away.

“This is the type of conversation that is… sensitive in nature,” Fury says, turning back to Stiles. “I didn’t just have my minions print off your papers. I read them. All of them. I also read your blog posts and forum responses, going back to your high school years. I didn’t come because I want another psychologist.”

Stiles’ brain latches onto the word _another_ , and Derek catches the wording as well. “Another?”

“If you want more information, you’ll have to sign an NDA, but don’t worry. You’ll be _very_ well compensated.”

Stiles laughs loudly, because _of course he will_. “Cliche number three! My life is complete.”

Derek takes the whole thing a bit more seriously than Stiles. “We’re not signing any paperwork until our lawyer looks it over. That includes the NDA. That’s also non-negotiable.”

He’s still chuckling, but just because he’s laughing doesn’t mean he’s not as serious as Derek. SHIELD may still be rebuilding, but it was a hell of an intelligence agency before it went down in flames. Stiles’ entire life is one giant secret, and he’s not going to sign anything that gives them power over him, even theoretically.

_**This is my legal brain coming through. I took a lot of ethics and some law classes in college and they were some of my favorites. I’m very into loopholes and details and being cautious. I once had a lawyer that our provider consulted say he was glad I was on his side. Like Stiles, I am very much of House Slytherin and Stark.** _

“Seriously?” Hawkeye asks, and it’s the first time Stiles has looked over at him… and he’s still holding a gun on Derek.

“ _You_ seriously?” he snaps before cocking his head to the side. “Wait, I thought you used a bow and arrow?”

“I use a lot of things.”

Stiles smirks and Derek rolls his eyes preemptively. “Jack of all trades, master of none?”

Before he can get a bullet to the head for being a little shit, Derek huffs at him. “Stop.” Stiles pouts, and is about to go on a tirade about how he absolutely needs to continue, but Derek gives him one of his _be serious_ expressions, so he stops. Derek turns back to Hawkeye, still looking very unimpressed. “If I was going to attack you, I would have done it when you didn’t realize I was in the house. Put it down.”

_**Everything in the above paragraph makes me smile. This is such a conversation that me and my girlfriend have had. The amount of times she’s talked me down, I swear...** _

Hawkeye doesn’t put the gun down but at least Derek doesn’t look like he’s about to throw down in their living room. If anything, Stiles is more on edge than the alpha, and he’s so fed up with the whole charade that if he doesn’t get his answers, he’s going to lose his shit.

“Jesus Christ, _look_ ,” Stiles snaps, hands on his hips like he’s Mama McCall trying to get the pack to actually behave at a family dinner. “You can get the hell out of my house or I will _make_ you get out of my house. My way isn’t fun. Trust me.”

Fury holds his hands up in a gesture that on anyone else would be open, apologetic, and honest. Stiles is so done with the whole charade, he actually rolls his eyes. “We just came here to talk.”

Stiles points at Fury like an Italian grandmother about to scold a child and of course that’s what makes Derek tense up. Hawkeye frowns and then twitches like he’s going to swing the gun at Stiles, taking his cue from Derek. The alpha snaps the handgun away, and Hawkeye doesn’t try to wrestle it away, saving himself from a broken finger. After Derek ejects the magazine and clears the chamber, he tosses the gun onto a chair behind him and turns back to Stiles with an eyebrow raised.

He grins at Derek, because that was impressive _and_ hot, before his expression drops and glares at Fury again. “You break into my house, _eat my food_ , pull this cryptic bullshit about hiring me, show me my academic papers and forum posts that are behind layers of encryption for a reason, and then throw around words like _non-disclosure agreements_ and _compensation_ , like I’d be willing to keep my mouth shut just because you pad my bank account with zeroes!”

Stiles honestly didn’t mean to go on a long rant, but the more this farce goes on, the angrier he gets. Fury’s back to that damn indifferent expression, but Hawkeye looks vaguely impressed. With a snarl to rival a wolf, he takes a step forward. “So not only did you violate my trust and the trust of everyone on those forums, you’ve shown you’re nothing more than a bully who doesn’t care about the mental or physical well-being of the people you interact with. I don’t care what the hell you came here to do. Get the _fuck_ out of my house.”

_**I am absolutely this way about consent in real life. It is such a huge trigger for me, informed consent especially. Yes, consent and informed consent in the medical world are two different things. Details are in the notes below because I don’t want to write a paper in the middle of the chapter.** _

For a moment, the only sounds in the house come from Stiles’ heavy breathing, but Hawkeye sighs and pulls out his wallet. When he thumbs out a twenty and hands it over to Fury, Stiles’ confusion goes through the roof.

“You know,” the Director begins, putting the money in his coat pocket, “you aren’t the first to make it past the compensation offer, but you are the first to call me on all the other bullshit. That just means I found the right person.”

Stiles stares him down, still trying to piece together what the hell is going on. When his brain finally catches up, he honestly debates grabbing his psych book and smashing it into that smug face. “Cool story, bro. You’re still a dick that can GTFO.”

_**When I first started writing this fic, I didn’t think I would make Fury such an asshole. I don’t think he’s this much of an asshole in the MCU but it just fit well? Sorry? Sort of?** _

Hawkeye snorts but relaxes against the counter. His hand edges towards the tupperware and Stiles resists the urge to hiss at him. _**I absolutely hiss at people in real life.**_ “At least hear us out.”

The disbelieving expression on his face is mirrored on Derek’s. Does this honestly work on other people? Stiles would be impressed by the sheer amount of ego if he wasn't on the receiving end of it. “Wow, what a recruitment strategy. You must hire the best people. Oh, _wait_ ,” he says dryly.

Even Derek snorts at that, but Stiles isn't moving. There's nothing that they can say or give him that will make him change his mind. The sooner they realize that, the better.

The director puts more papers on the table and Stiles sighs loudly. “What is that? My spelling test from the fifth grade?”

“It's the non-disclosure agreement,” Fury says. “Which you're going to sign before I tell you anything else. Not negotiable.”

Eyebrow raised, Stiles leans over to look at the tiny print. With a huff, he glares at Fury. “No, it's the piece of shit paper that you can shove up your--”

“We told you,” Derek interrupts, “that we're not signing anything without consulting with our lawyer. Also not negotiable.”

Fury turns his glare from Stiles to Derek. “I don’t have _time_ for you to consult a lawyer. This is time-sensitive. Why the hell do you think I showed up in person?”

Stiles blinks at the question that doesn’t seem quite as hypothetical as it probably should have. He immediately takes advantage to be a smartass. “To emotionally scar me for life?”

Derek doesn’t back down though. “Too bad. We’re not signing paperwork without having someone consult it first. Sorry to say that you’re not the most trustworthy group of people out there.”

Hawkeye huffs and crosses his arms. “I’m an Avenger!”

“You’re just proving his point, you know.” Stiles pulls out his actual phone and drags the paperwork closer to him. He gets a clear picture of each page - and _wow_ , are there a lot of them - and then attaches them to an email. Ignoring the posturing on the other side of the room, he pulls up his favorites and hits the number he really doesn’t want to dial.

Before Peter can say anything when he picks up, Stiles hits the speaker button and holds the phone out so everyone can hear. “Peter, you’re on speaker so try not to let your inner psychopath show.”

“Too late,” comes the flippant reply. Stiles silently agrees. “To what do I owe the honor of a phone call with normal people?”

Stiles laughs loudly and sarcastically. “Oh, you have no idea how wrong you are. Look, I just emailed you an NDA that someone wants me to sign. It’s going to suck; I know that. Just tell me how bad it is.”

Peter hums but the noise of his keyboard comes across clearly through the speaker. Stiles knows the exact moment Peter sees exactly who the NDA comes from.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Peter says, disappointment clear in his voice.

“God, I know. _I know_.” Stiles sighs. He can’t believe that he actually feels like he deserves that disappointment from Peter, of all people. “It’s not like I sought them out. They broke into the house and ate my food.”

There’s a silence on Peter’s end that is very telling. “You’re more upset about the food, aren’t you? Christ, you’re irritating.” Stiles smirks at Hawkeye but looks back down at his phone as he listens to Peter hit keys on his keyboard. “Well, first off. You’re not signing this. I’m half-expecting them to ask for your firstborn if you break this.”

“Well considering ass babies only exist in fanfiction, I think that’s something I don’t have to worry about,” Stiles says, ignoring the looks that gets him from the people in the room. _**This is another favorite line of mine in this chapter. The sass is strong in this one.**_

Peter sighs and continues on without comment. “If you sign this, I’ll kill you. I don’t even think I could have made this more evil.”

Stiles feels vindicated, because he _knew_ that. Derek moves closer so he can be heard through the microphone. “So fix it. If we don’t sign something, they’ll never leave and I want to sleep at some point today.”

“Well, let me drop everything for you, shall I?” Peter snaps.

Derek and Stiles both roll their eyes. “Uh, yes?” Stiles replies. “He wasn’t kidding about the sleeping thing. They already ate my dinner.”

Peter sighs loudly. “Stiles, you don’t even know what they want you to do.”

“Yes, I do,” Stiles refutes. “I’m just trying to figure out with whom, honestly.”

Fury is still stone-faced. He isn’t shocked by Stiles’ admission, but he doesn’t give anything else away, either. He and Stiles have a staring contest and when he nods first, Stiles wants to fist pump in victory.

“I’ll give you the name if you sign the NDA.”

Peter breaks the silence. “First, he’s not signing it. Second, _Stiles_.”

The disappointment is even stronger this time, and even though Peter can’t see him, Stiles flails his arms. “What part of _broke in_ and _ate my food_ do you not understand? It’s not like I brought him home with me!”

Derek snorts when Peter sighs loudly. “I’m going to email you a blank copy of the NDA you signed with Madison when you went to Stanford. It’s just as secure but you won’t be tossed into a prison cell the moment you open your mouth to express your opinion.”

“Thank you,” Stiles tells him, because he can be polite when he wants.

“Thank me by not signing it and continuing on with your superhero-less life. You attract enough trouble as it is,” Peter says tightly. As he pulls the phone away to hang up, Stiles can hear Peter still huffing to himself, “Why is it always him?” _**Because it’s so amusing when it is.**_

Derek snorts. “He’s not wrong.”

“Don’t remind me,” Stiles mumbles as he opens his email and sends the document to the printer in the office. As soon as he can hear the document start to print, Stiles puts his phone away and turns back to Fury. “Look, this is your last chance. Look over the NDA that I’m actually willing to sign, tell me the name, and then when I decide to follow the sound legal advice I just received and finally kick you both out of here to never see you again, we can all pretend this never happened except in my nightmares. Sound good?”

Stiles doesn’t wait for an answer, instead skating around Hawkeye to head to the office. After a moment, he grabs the tupperware on the counter and cradles it to his chest with a glare. He uses the moments of silence in the office to gather his thoughts, because he wasn’t lying when he told Peter that he figured out why Fury was here.

The security on the forums he frequented were as good as money could buy, and with not only the Hales but multiple supernatural clans across the globe invested in privacy, there was a lot of money to buy said security. So for Fury to go so deep into his background to find the forums and review how he handled previous supernatural PTSD and trauma situations, the person he’s slated to help has to be at the top. And he knows it’s going to be supernatural PTSD and trauma _because_ they brought up those forums in the first place. That was probably the biggest mistake on their part.

He doesn’t think it’s Hawkeye, for two reasons. Fury wouldn’t bring the person to him, and Hawkeye was public about how he received help after he was mind-controlled by Loki during the Battle of New York. Stiles gets the feeling he’s here more for the amusement factor than anything else.

His top two choices are Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, and the thought of meeting those two, let alone giving them whatever help he can, makes him want to cry in a corner and cringe at the same time. He and Stark are probably on the same level, annoyance wise. They would murder each other in a day. With Rogers, Stiles doesn’t think he could hold back his questions about World War II, and that probably wouldn’t help in the first place.

_**For people who have asked about Stiles helping Tony and/or Steve, Stiles does help Steve some in what I’ve already written. You’ll see more interactions with Stiles and Tony later in the fic and much more deeply into some scenes I have planned for The Other Side. A certain webslinger may or may not be involved.** _

Taking a deep breath, Stiles gathers all the papers together and heads back into the living area. After handing the NDA to Fury, he grabs the fork in the tupperware container he’s still holding and eats the last few bites of what was going to be a good dinner.

Derek makes a face at him. “You couldn’t have gotten a new fork?”

“For two bites?” Stiles asks, his mouth still full as he shrugs “You know I hate doing the dishes.” _**I hate doing the dishes. Hate. Haaaate. Not as much I hate cleaning floors, though.**_

“Which is why you never do them in the first place,” Derek argues, crossing his arms with a huff, like he doesn’t depend on the dishwasher as much as Stiles does. “You’re brushing your teeth before I kiss you again.”

He rolls his eyes so hard it actually hurts. The sad thing is he knows that Derek isn’t kidding. “Oh my god, are you five? Are you seriously worried about Hawkeye cooties?”

With a smirk, Derek looks across the room at said Avenger before turning back to Stiles. “You’re _not_?”

Stiles stops chewing as he really thinks that question over. With a whine, he walks over to the sink and spits the rest of the food out and fills a glass with water for a rinse. “Damn it.”

“Aw, food, no,” Hawkeye says sadly, hand outreached like he can actually stop Stiles.

“It was my food, you _vulture_!”

Before Stiles and an Avenger get into what could probably be a kickass food fight, Fury interrupts them with a dry, “Well, at least you’ll fit in.” Pulling a pen out of his jacket, he glances up at Stiles. “These papers will get you the name, but nothing else. We _will_ have to get more legal paperwork in place before that comes.”

Stiles scoffs, because there is nothing he can be told to make him consider signing away his life to an ex-government spy agency that had been infiltrated by Nazis for decades. He takes the offered pen from Fury carefully, signing on the last page. Derek signs next and they both stand back with expectant expressions on their face.

“James Buchanan Barnes.”

Stiles inhales sharply, completely caught off guard. That’s a name that he’s more familiar with than most Americans, except probably Captain America. Derek looks concerned at his reaction, although that’s probably from his now-racing heartbeat. Hawkeye also looks confused, but Stiles is too busy staring down Fury to care.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” he repeats slowly. “The marksman from the 107th Infantry Regiment who served in the European Theater of World War II until his _death_ in 1945? _That_ James Barnes?”

_**A few things here. I specifically didn’t have Stiles use the term ‘sniper’ for a reason. Even though the term was around in World War I since the Germans dominated sharpshooting in No Man’s Land, the American Armed Forces didn’t create a specialized school for snipers until the Vietnam War, two decades after World War II. The common term in American armed forces was marksman or sharpshooter.** _

**_Also, I have Barnes’ death as 1945 because that’s what fits for my timeline. I know that there’s debate on when it actually happened, especially in reference to when the Valkyrie went down. I’m meticulous about my research in some things. Others...eh, fuck it. This is one that goes in the fuck it bucket._ **

A bit of understanding crosses Derek’s face, because one of the first things Stiles did when first hit New York was to go see the 107th Infantry Memorial. He never told Derek the importance, but he knows that Stiles’ dad served. He knows that Stiles has always treated anyone who served at any time with more respect than most people expect from him.

_**There really is a memorial to the 107th Infantry in New York City. It’s in Central Park, at East 67th Street and Fifth Avenue. The memorial was established in 1927 to honor the soldiers who didn’t return at the end of World War I. Steve and Bucky would have been able to see it pre-movie or may have even been able to attend the dedication.** _

He just doesn’t know that James Buchanan Barnes is the reason Stiles even exists.

When Fury nods, all the air escapes Stiles’ lungs in a heavy exhale. No one else in the room seems to understand how much of a world-changing conversation they’re having. Every single Avenger could start doing cartwheels through his house and he wouldn’t notice or care.

_**I still don’t know if Fury knows the truth about the relationship between Stiles and Bucky or if he’s pulling a Natasha and pretending he knows everything. Let’s just ignore that then, k?** _

The air is tense, and for once, Stiles doesn’t want to break it with a smartass comment. All he wants to do is call his dad and ask what the hell he’s supposed to do. His anxiety ramps up and he crosses his arms just to shove his hands out of sight to cover the shaking.

“You know, most people only know him as Bucky Barnes, Captain America’s friend.”

A bitter smile curls his face at Fury’s casual statement. As the perpetual sidekick to Scott, then Lydia throughout his high school years, he’s always hated being referenced only next to another person. He can’t imagine anyone else enjoying it either, but this time, he pushes that aside.

“I’m not most people.”

Fury nods. Stiles actually feels like they understand each other for the first damn time all afternoon. “Why do you think I’m here?”

Stiles swallows tightly because he also understands just how much he’s being trusted with. He’s honored, in a strange way. When he turns to face Derek, his alpha raises his eyebrows expectantly. Stiles almost regrets making up his mind without talking to anyone else, but he was helpless the moment James Barnes’ name was said.

“Peter’s going to kill me.”

When Derek understands the statement for what it is - Stiles admitting he’s going to jump through whatever hoops Fury puts in front of him without regrets - he groans. He doesn’t blame Derek, honestly. Their lives just became a million times more complicated, because it’s not like he’s going to be working with superheroes while trying to keep werewolves a secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Consent versus informed consent. Strap in, kiddies. I mentioned this is a hot-button issue for me. I am very vocal about the importance of informed consent and not even because of the field I work in. It's personal. 
> 
> Consent is what it says on the tin. I need your permission to enter your home. You say yes. I can enter. Boom. Consent given. Like a vampire. 
> 
> Informed consent means that you ask for consent for a thing, but also explicitly state what the thing is, why you need the thing, give other options to the thing, risks of the thing, and risks of not doing the thing. Take a surgery for example. One of the massive pieces of paper you have to sign before surgery (or really anything medical) is informed consent. You are given details of that surgery. About everything. Ev-er-y-thing. It even tells you _why_ you need the surgery. Then you're told what other options you have to the surgery. You can not have it, opt for medications, therapies, etc. Then you're told any and all risks that can occur during and after the surgery, up to and definitely including death. And finally, you're told what can happen to you if you choose not to have the surgery. You are literally told all your options. If you're thinking, well duh, of course they should tell you all your options! You would be. Damned. Surprised. (Or not, sadly.) 
> 
> Where this is most prevalent is with medical procedures, like surgery listed above, and psychiatry/psychology. Where I, personally, feel it's least prevalent is with medications. This is based solely on my personal and professional experiences. Physicians and pharmacists alike should go the informed consent route instead of expecting the patients to do their own research on medications. That being said, **research your medications**. Research everything. Don't depend on the medical professionals to give you informed consent, even though ethically and legally, they're supposed to. I learned that the hard way.
> 
> Ahem. Now that your lesson in ethics is over, thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a week. To all my fellow Texans, I hope that everything is going well for you. In between working 24 hour rotating shifts and sleeping, I was thankful I was so lucky to keep power. And then yesterday my apartment flooded from a burst pipe. My cat and I are currently staying with an amazing coworker since there's an inch of water everywhere and it won't be cleaned for another day. I'm just...not even thinking about the apartment right now. (Or my office, which also flooded.) Stay warm and all my love to everyone. 
> 
> Apologies if the formatting looks weird. I am posting from my phone. See above for why.

Even though Stiles agrees to help, he was still very serious when he said that there would be more contracts to sign but that he wasn’t going to sign them until they were looked over. He wants to help, but at the same time, the logistics are a nightmare. Peter threatens to kill him in very imaginative ways, Stiles threatens the same right back, and they go back to working out how Stiles can protect his secrets while around the best spies in the world.

Fury and Peter email each other contracts back and forth, and if Peter’s increased irritation is anything to go by, no one is happy. It’s hard to compromise when both sides are made up of stubborn assholes. _**I feel like this is the story of my life.**_ Fury wants him to live in Avengers Tower. Stiles refuses, because he is _not_ living with superheroes in the most technologically advanced building in the world controlled by an artificial intelligence. When Fury states that he can live somewhere within fifteen minutes of the tower, Derek shoots him down saying that even if they lived in a building on the same block, it would still take a half hour thanks to the crazy Midtown traffic and tourists. _**I’ve visited NYC plenty of times but this gem is thanks to my lovely brain twin and girlfriend who is an NYC native.**_ Stiles wants to continue his studies, but Fury wants him available at all times. There’s long, drawn-out arguments about pay, because while Stiles can’t be bought, he’s going to milk this deal for all it’s worth. _**Opportunistic, baby!**_ Part of the agreement that Fury doesn’t want to budge on is Stiles being able to tell his family and friends where he is. Stiles flat out tells Fury that if he can’t be honest about what he’s doing - minus whom he’s doing it _for_ \- he’ll walk, no matter what. In the end, it takes a month for everyone to agree to the basics and be able to sit down to nail down the contract.

Peter flies in for the occasion, and Stiles hides behind Derek at the look he gets from his lawyer. It’s going to be a long day of debates, and no matter how he tried, he couldn’t get Fury to agree to pay his legal fees, on account of he is the one who was determined to bring Peter in the first place. Stiles thinks that’s stupid, because who signs their life away without reading the fine print? _**A surprising amount of people. Did you know that every time you agree to the Terms of Service for Apple products, you agree to not use their products to create nuclear missiles, chemical or biological weapons? READ. THE. FINE. PRINT.**_

Some things they already decided on during the long passive-aggressive email debates. Stiles and Derek will live in the tower, because there really isn’t any other option. Derek’s confident he can find the surveillance system and Stiles knows he can give them privacy from nosy spies. The true test will be if his belief is stronger than an artificial intelligence digging into their pasts. They also agreed on the pay, _finally_ , for both him and Derek. He’s allowed to talk to his family and friends, and tell them he’s contracted to someone in New York City, but that’s it. Stiles doesn’t mention that if he wanted to tell them, he has ways and codes that they’ll never crack.

The biggest issue turns out to be, surprisingly, him continuing his education. He’s not going to stop studying and learning, and Stiles thought this would be the easiest problem to solve. He’s even been proactive, talking to the faculty at Cornell and Columbia University. They eventually agree on the details - he’ll be on campus two days a week, unless there’s an actual emergency, and other correspondence can be done online. He gets to work in the Columbia PTSD Research Center, which makes him giddy. _**Do you know how much I would pay to be able to get access to this place? Me and my girlfriend would be tackling each other to be the first one in**_ The Avengers will also pay for the difference in his tuition _and_ the mortgage on the house in Ithaca. At first, they refused, but when Stiles pointed out that residence was the only reason he was charged in-state tuition versus out-of-state, and he would be happy to sell the house if they weren’t willing to pay, they quickly agreed. _**College tuition is STUPID. I’ve attended universities in and out of state. I also tried my best to pay out of pocket, which was nice but hard. To those of you currently in school, bless you and your bank accounts.**_ The papers were signed and Stiles has no idea what he’s just done.

Moving turned out to be ridiculously easy. He didn’t have to do a thing, because a group of professional movers had the house packed and emptied in less than a day. There were some things that Stiles packed himself, like all his supernatural texts and items. Those were placed in boxes and then warded to hell and back. To anyone but Stiles and Derek, it looked like another box of random kitchen items. The day before they were officially leaving, Stiles took down all the wards and protections around the house.

Both of their vehicles are going into storage, because Derek pointed out there is no way either of them is driving in Manhattan, and payment for all their transportation, whatever type it may be, is covered under the contract. Once the house is empty, a car is sent to pick them up and Stiles can’t help the excitement that creeps up the closer they get to the Tower. He’s going to be calm as a fucking cucumber when he first meets everyone, but as soon as he’s alone in his room, he’s going to flail harder than Kermit the Frog. _**This was a nod to my girlfriend once again, as she is a die-hard Muppets fan.**_

The car drops them off in an underground garage. Stiles grabs his backpack that holds his electronics, because no way was he letting _those_ out of his sight, especially now. He’s surprised when Hawkeye is the one waiting for them by an elevator.

“Sorry, Hawkdude, I don’t have any leftovers for you to steal,” Stiles tells him.

The other man smirks, but holds his hand out. “I figure you can actually call me by name now, since we’re going to be living together and all. Clint.”

“Cool,” Stiles says, shaking his hand with a nod. “You already know my name since you _broke into my house_.”

Clint shakes his head and leads them into the elevator, saying, “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

Stiles smirks as he follows. Derek just sighs behind him. “Nope.” He waits until the elevator is moving to speak again. “So are you our official welcoming committee?”

He shrugs, and Stiles is kind of irritated, because he forgot that spies and superheroes have hard-to-read body language. They’re too damn good at faking it. He makes a face at Derek, who shakes his head. Steady heartbeat. Of course.

“More like I thought you’d appreciate a familiar face before the entire group descends. They’re all up there waiting,” Clint tells them.

“I don’t understand. Fury made it sound like I’m just the next person in a long line of people to get this job.” Stiles turns to Derek. “Am I right?”

Derek snorts. “Considering how many times the lawyers bitched about the other people not putting them through the hell you did, I’d say you are.”

Clint grins. “Exactly. Fury wasn’t exactly quiet about how much of a pain in the ass you were, but how he thought it would be worth it. Everyone wants to meet you.”

Stiles sighs heavily and leans against the elevator wall. He really wishes that the NDA went both ways, because the last thing he needed was everyone expecting an amazing, and probably old, psychologist with years of experience and getting him. Fury probably did it just for the hell he put him through with the contract. Fucker. “Well, that means this is going to go one of two ways. Either everyone has an open mind and they’ll be willing to listen, or they see me, make snap judgements, bitch loudly like children having a tantrum, and I get paid to sit in a fancy building in Manhattan trying not to be bored out of my skull. Awesome.”

Clint doesn’t say anything, and Stiles takes it as an agreement. He remembers the bet Fury apparently made with Clint at their first meeting, and how the Avenger didn’t seem that impressed with him in the beginning. He’s hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst. _**I feel like this is also my motto for life.**_

Derek brushes his hand against his back and it does help settle him a bit. It may seem silly, but he really wants to impress these people, which is usually a sentiment he kicks away. They were literal superheroes. He grew up listening to stories of Captain America and James Barnes, and he’s about to _meet them_. He’s in Iron Man’s tower, where an actual _god_ lives, too. If the Black Widow is there, he might actually pee himself. He has a thing for confident redheads. He starts taking deep breaths so he doesn’t hyperventilate.

When the elevator dings and the doors open, Stiles hitches his backpack higher on his shoulders and follows Clint out. Derek is right at his side, and he knows that the alpha is tense and wants to shove Stiles back into the elevator. They already had a talk about how difficult it would be curbing his instincts around so many spies, fighters, and nosy geniuses. Derek’s gotten a lot better at playing human and Stiles worked with Peter to imagine every possible contingency where his magics and beliefs could fail to keep their secret, so he could practice.

But now that he’s in the room, he kind of wants to let Derek shove him away. There are a lot of intense looks from people with alpha personalities. Stiles keeps taking steady, deep breaths as he looks around the room. Thor is absent, but everyone else is lounging around a bright, open space in a manner that looks way too staged. Clint snorts but steps to the side to fully reveal Stiles.

Fury walks up to him, because of course he’s here. He doesn’t do anything like hold out his hand to shake, but the man does turn to face the rest of the Avengers with a stern expression. Stiles doubts it’s really all that effective. It oddly makes him feel a tiny bit better, because it gives the illusion someone else is on his side.

He’s the only person to move beside - oh, fuck - Captain America himself. Steve Rogers looks different than all his publicity photos, but that’s probably because the only time he’s really photographed, he’s in his Captain America uniform or a suit worthy of any A-list celebrity. The typical charming smile that accompanies all those photos is gone. Despite the fact that the man is wearing a t-shirt and jeans, he looks like he’s about to go into battle.

Stiles blinks when it’s clear that _he_ is the one on the other side of that particular battlefield. No one else in the room appears all that pleased about him either. Stark gives him an elevator look then snorts, going back to his drink. To be fair, he expected Stark to be a dick, no matter what.

“This is Mr. Stilinski,” Fury says, and Stiles makes a face because he _hates_ being called that. Fury knows that, too. “He’s here to help Barnes. This is Mr. Hale,” Fury gestures to Derek, and Stiles tries to hold back the smirk. “He’s here because Mr. Stilinski is a pain in my ass and they’re a package deal.”

Stark raises his head again, his expression tighter. “Mr? Not Doctor?”

The part of Stiles that wanted to impress everyone in this room shrivels up and dies. He remembers why he generally doesn’t give a fuck about what people think about him. It’s so exhausting. So Stiles does what he does best: be an asshole. _**Yeah. This is me, too. Although I also tend to give people the benefit of the doubt first.**_

With a shrug, he tells them, “Not a doctor, dude.” Stiles mentally high-fives himself when Stark’s eye twitches. The comment gets him a sharp look from Fury, who should honestly be used to Stiles by now due to how many meetings they had over the past month. He doesn’t get the same reaction from Rogers, but the man’s shoulders tighten. If the man clenches up anymore, Stiles really is going to dive behind Derek while yelling _fire in the hole_. _**I have told coworkers to “unclench thyself” many times. It’s one of my favorite ways of telling someone to calm without saying to calm. It usually makes them laugh and that helps.**_

“And what kind of experience do you have?” Rogers asks. There’s a hint of sarcasm to his voice, and while typically Stiles would be all about engaging in a battle of sass with someone, he’s hit his judgmental asshole limit for the day. He mentally reminds himself that if the roles were reversed, he would be just as much of a judgemental asshole, but it doesn’t do him much good.

“That’s none of your business,” Stiles says firmly. “And before you come back saying that it is, I have a legal document signed on behalf of the Avengers that says it isn’t.”

They all look surprised at that, and the Black Widow - oh Christ, he’s going to make embarrassing noises in a second - is the first to look at Fury with a raised eyebrow.

“Trust me,” Fury says in answer to her unasked question, “it’s ironclad. If the man wasn’t so goddamn infuriating, I would have hired his lawyer for myself.”

“God, you can have him,” Stiles mutters, even though he only half-way means it. It’s surprisingly helpful to have a lawyer in the know on his side.

Derek snorts. “You wish.” It’s the first time that everyone’s attention is drawn away from Stiles, and when Rogers dismisses him immediately, Stiles can practically taste the irritation and annoyance coming from Derek. The Black Widow isn’t so quick to dismiss him, but thankfully, Fury draws the attention away from them.

“This is happening, Cap. After all I went through to find him, and the additional month of hellish negotiations, he’s staying.”

Rogers takes a few more steps forward, and it finally allows Stiles to see the man he’s dedicated the next however time period of his life helping.

Barnes looks nothing like the history photos from the 1940’s. His hair brushes his shoulders in unkempt waves, and there’s a Derek-worthy layer of stubble on his face. _**As much as I love the short hair version of Bucky we’re seeing in Falcon and Winter Soldier, I love me some long hair.**_ The metal arm doesn’t surprise him, since he was warned ahead of time during the negotiations. He’s dressed similarly to Rogers, except the shirt is long-sleeved, and only his metal left hand is bare.

By the time Stiles looks back at his face, Barnes is staring at him with narrowed eyes. Stiles cocks an eyebrow and tunes back into the bitching that he totally knew was coming. Rogers seems to be the main one complaining to Fury, but Stark has also moved beside Dr. Banner. He looks about done with Stark as Stiles is, stating loudly that he’s still _not that kind of doctor_. _**I want to know the official PhDs Banner has, especially since we have a number for the MCU.**_ Stiles is very much aware what kind of doctor Bruce Banner is. He’s had to listen to hours of Lydia talk about him through the years.

Even though it’s what he expected, Stiles is still pissed. He knew this whole thing was going to be an ordeal, but he thought he would just pushing with Barnes, not the whole damn Avengers team. Clint is the only one who isn’t protesting his presence. Well, the Black Widow isn’t, but she doesn’t seem all that impressed with him either.

She turns her head to share a look with Barnes, and his careful expression melts into one of irritation. Well, there goes the one person who didn’t look at him like he was the scum on their shoes. Stiles can handle those looks from everyone else in the room, but coming from Barnes, it stings. Looks like his prepare for the worst mindset was the right one, after all.

“Plan B it is,” Stiles sighs. Clint grimaces, and Stiles resists the urge to fistbump him. At least someone besides Derek and Fury is in his corner.

“Excuse me? What the hell does that mean?” Rogers snaps, stopping his rant mid-sentence with Fury.

Stiles can be battle-ready, too. He’s dealt with pretentious hunters, smug alphas, and infuriating as all fuck faeries. He’s seen more shit in the past decade than most people experience in their lifetime. He may admire these people, may respect them for their willingness to risk their lives to protect the world, but he’s been doing the same thing since he was sixteen. He just didn’t get the same kind of recognition, nor did he want it.

“It means you can all go _fuck yourselves_ ,” he says loudly. _**Never let someone else make you feel lesser than, kids. It’s hard not to compare yourself to others, I get it. But stand your ground and know your worth.**_

The room becomes completely quiet. Everyone is frozen, staring at him with wide eyes. He knows from media footage that they’ve been in contact with very vocal haters, but he doubts someone has been in their literal house shouting it at their faces. Clearly, someone needed to.

“None of you know jack shit about me. _These_ fuckers,” Stiles says, gesturing to Fury and Clint, “broke into my house. You all may be used to people digging into your lives, but I don’t like it when information that is hidden for not only my privacy, but others’, is printed off and thrown in my face when I’m ambushed. Or how about the fact that I moved here even though I hate New York City? That I put my education on hold for this? And I can’t even tell my family anything, so that’s the majority of _my_ support system gone. The only reason I’m not leaving is because I’m pretty sure Fury knew that you’re all dicks and put in my contract I had to stay for at least three months, regardless of if I actually talk to anyone. Oh, but that’s okay, because you don’t, what? Like the way I look? My age?”

No one answers him, but none of them look properly cowed, either. Clint’s having some weird staring contest with the Black Widow, but her steady expression doesn’t waver. He’s so exhausted he just wants to sleep and let Derek curl around him so he doesn’t have to deal with this shit.

“So in answer to your question, Captain Asshole, Plan B was me knowing that you douche-canoes would judge me by my looks and my age, without even bothering to ask why I was literally hunted down in the first place. _**I love this exchange so much. Just...all of it.**_ So I’m going to have the only decent person in this building besides my lovely boyfriend take us to our rooms so you can bitch like the toddlers you really are. Fucking stick that in your juice box and suck it.” _**This is one of my favorite comebacks ever. It’s so unexpected.**_

His rant finished, he turns to Clint with an expectant look on his face. The archer sighs and nods back to the elevator. Stiles turns back without a second glance. He can practically feel Derek’s disappointed face aimed at everyone else before he follows, protecting Stiles’ back. Once the doors close, Stiles doesn’t slump back like he wants, but he does take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

When Clint opens his mouth, Stiles just shakes his head. “Don’t even bother, dude.”

When they arrive on the correct floor, Clint leads them out. Even though Stiles just doesn’t want to talk to anyone but Derek for the next week, Clint stops at their door. “Look, even though I know Fury covered it in the contract or whatever, you should know that the whole thing was recorded by Tony’s AI, Friday. She’s wired through the whole building. She practically runs it. That means she’s in the rooms, too. That’s the reason there aren’t any keys or cards to get into the rooms. You set the visitor list, but Tony can override that, too.”

Oh, Stiles definitely knew that. His brain hasn’t let him forget it. “Yeah, I know. Is there a particular reason she’s in the private rooms, too?” When Clint just gives him a look, Stiles rolls his eyes. He’ll be able to keep the surveillance and recordings from working when he or Derek are in the room. “Yeah.”

“Thank you,” Derek tells him, grabbing Stiles’ shoulder and pushing him toward the door. The door unlocks and that’s definitely going to take some getting used to.

Clint nods and heads back to the elevator, pausing halfway there. “And for the record? I’m sorry about this.”

Stiles just gives him a sad smile before he follows Derek inside. “So am I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this makes you smile. I needed to get some sort of thoughts out and my mindset isn't a good place for the next chapter of Superheroes. This helped a little bit.


End file.
